


hunger

by GhostofBeltanesPast



Series: Pining Fools [4]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: F/M, PWP, Pure Smut, questionable knife use, smut with some fluff at the end, the zipper was right there dude
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:14:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28221498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GhostofBeltanesPast/pseuds/GhostofBeltanesPast
Summary: One of Reader's visits to Nyx, set at some unspecified point before "There is no morning." in the continuity.Sometimes, hunger gets the better of them.[Pure smut, no plot to be had]
Relationships: Nyx Ulric/Reader
Series: Pining Fools [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2063547
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	hunger

**Author's Note:**

> As ever, I don't own FFXV or any parts thereof.

His hands are tangled in your hair, and gods, you’ve never been so happy for Nyx to meet you at the door.   
  
The bag with the food you’ve brought was all but whisked from your hands as soon as the door was opened, dropped unceremoniously to the floor as he dragged you into a biting kiss, slamming the door shut and pushing you against the chill metal.   
  
Its touch on the bare skin of your back, not covered by the sundress you’re still wearing despite the late hour, makes you arch into him -- oh, but that only makes him press into you more, the heat rolling off his lean body as one leg presses between your thick thighs and he does his best to make you forget your own name.   
  
You rut into each other like that, kissing so fiercely your teeth clack now and then, for…   
  
...well, you really couldn’t say. It could be half the night for all you know, his hardness grinding into your hip for long enough that you wonder if you’ll bruise from that alone.   
  
But his patience isn’t infinite, and between kisses he gasps “ _ bed _ ” against your lips, pulling and pushing you across the room as he wrestles with the ties of your sundress.   
  
The knots are pulled as snug as you can, to make sure they couldn’t possibly come undone; your breasts are heavy and pendulous, and without a bra you certainly aren’t taking any chances. There’s a side zipper, though, one that you’re about to reach for when he pushes you against the rough, bare wall and growls “ _ Don’t. Move. _ ”   
  
It’s not the first time he’s gotten bossy with you in bed. You certainly don’t  _ mind _ . He’s a conscientious lover, always making sure to take time for your pleasure, making sure to give you what you want...and he knows that sometimes you want to be  _ taken _ .   
  
Tonight’s a good night for it, although you’re not really sure how he could have known. It’s been a tough week at work, unreasonably demanding clients and unhelpful superiors combining to create one big, ugly mess that you ended up getting blamed for somehow -- not having to think for a bit, letting someone else take charge? That sounds pretty sweet to you.   
  
Of course, even if you don’t mind him getting handsy, or ordering you around a bit, the cold metal against your skin isn’t something you’ve talked about. You’re about to object (and where did he get the knife  _ from _ , anyway?) when he  _ moves _ suddenly. You suck in a breath, terrified and rooted to the spot.   
  
He slices through one side of the halter ties, his other arm pressed across your collarbone to keep you still.   
  
You whimper.   
  
Without the tension to hold it up, the top droops; you’re not sure what happens to the knife, but by the time you’re blinking away the tears at the corners of your eyes, his mouth is on yours again and his hands are warm and firm on your body, pulling roughly at the dress until he can expose your ample chest.   
  
One hand kneads at your breast. He pinches your nipple,  _ hard _ , making you gasp and whine against his lips -- it's rude, but no less than you expect. Besides, you love the way he wrenches sounds from your lips as much as he seems to.

Your thighs are damp (more than damp, really), when you feel thick, callused fingers sneak under the hem of your dress. They seek out the wet, hot core of you with surprising precision, despite the less-than-advantageous position; you’re not sure if it’s practice, talent, or sheer luck, but you’re grateful either way.

He smirks against your lips and works his fingers deeper.

You whine and buck, but there's nowhere to go. The wall behind you, and Nyx between your legs -- you can't escape, and you don't want to. He grinds into your thigh and sucks a mark just over your collarbone.

" _ Motherfucker _ ," you hiss through your teeth, fingers winding into his hair and pulling; slow and firm, until he finally releases you with a groan.

"Bed," he insists again, hauling you over with a hand on the back of your neck.

You don't argue when he pushes you over the edge. You're soaked, aching to feel him inside you -- you cant your hips back as invitingly as you can, fully anticipating the sharp slap that makes you keen.

He sucks a breath in (enjoying the view, perhaps?), and you hear the shifting of fabric just before there's warmth at your back; one sharp thrust, and another, and he’s inside you, breathing rough against your neck already.   
  
You hide your smile against the sheets, pushing back just as eagerly and loving the way he groans. It’s guttural and filthy and  _ desperate _ , and it’s yours to share with him. These are the moments you get to have him, this is what he gives you, and as much as it hurts, you revel in it.   
  
You gasp, as his hips snap against yours, the pace he sets punishing from the start. One hand twists into your hair to pull you backward, forcing you to arch against him. You can barely reach the bed to brace yourself -- each thrust throws you off-balance and leaves you scrambling not to fall -- but his grip on your hair and your hip never falter, even as the latter becomes bruisingly-tight.   
  
His teeth sink into the tender flesh of your shoulder, as he sucks another mark into your skin. You don’t know what prompted this, his sudden need to mark you, but you don’t mind. Gods, you wouldn’t care if he did it where people could see, no matter what kind of looks you got at work tomorrow; you’d love it if they knew, you  _ want _ people to know that you’re  _ his _ . Body and heart and anything else. All he’d have to do is say the word, and you would give him anything.   
  
He kisses the mark, wet and open-mouthed. It’s tender, almost, and entirely at odds with the way he gasps against your neck seconds later, choking out a word that sounds almost like a plea.    
  
“ _ Close _ .”   
  
You let him push you flat, falling back to the mattress as he fucks you with a hunger you’ll treasure the memory of. Even if it’s only a matter of seconds, the way he leans over you feels almost loving.   
  
His breath is hot and ragged in your ear. You wish you could stay like this, suspend this moment in resin and revisit it time and again.   
  
But his hips stutter against yours, finally finding his release with a choked sound. For a moment it almost sounds like your name; you close your eyes and pretend that it is.   
  
He doesn’t linger, although you wish he would -- he’s conscientious like that, rolling to the side and padding across the room.   
  
You hear the sink, distantly. It’s all part of the routine, all part of what a kind person he is, making sure to clean you up after he’s made a mess of you.   
  
It’s been a long day, and you’re already half-asleep, as much as you struggle to find the strength to perk up again. You wanted to talk with him, have some nice conversation, make sure he eats properly…   
  
But by the time he’s back across the room, wiping you down with gentle hands (and  _ finally _ fumbling the zipper down), you can barely do more than meekly let him coax you into bed.   
  
You moan, and try not to hear how pathetic you sound. “The food…”   
  
He huffs. It sounds amused, thankfully.   
  
“Yeah, I got it. It’s alright.”   
  
You hum, the only acknowledgement you can muster the energy for at this point.   
  
The last thing you remember before sleep claims you is feeling warmth at your back, and what couldn’t possibly be lips pressed to your neck.

**Author's Note:**

> I promise the next chapter of Returning the Favor is coming, but the plotbunny was there, and I wasn't about to look a gift, uh...bunny? in the mouth?
> 
> That metaphor got away from me lol. But new chapter tonight or tomorrow, depending. For now, please accept some brief filth in its stead. :)
> 
> As always, many thanks to everyone for reading, and especially for the kudos and comments! Your enthusiasm is a fantastic motivator, and while daily uploads aren't always going to be tenable, the frequency is definitely going to be more when I'm getting that sweet, sweet validation and affirmation lmao.


End file.
